Scars of Time
by Eyrmia
Summary: When an enemy is killed it leaves a bruise that eventually fades and is forgotten, but when a friend is lost it leaves a scar that remains for eternity. The War for Cybertron taught many this painful lesson. In a world full of tragedy, violence, and love, only the strong will survive. Rated T for violence and themes. Autobot-Decepticon War Origin Fic; centered on Ratchet and OCs
1. I Never Felt More Home

**Just to let you know, the story starts out a little bit slow, but it speed up as it goes along.**

**Song: **"Distant Memories" - Revive

**(****I got my chapter title from the song above. The title is one of the lyrics in the song.)**

**For vocab, go to Deviant Art and enter this after the domain name (deviant art .com - without spaces) because links won't work here: ** art/Transformers-Glossary-474872477

**Ratchet is six orns old. Whiplash is eleven.**

**(The ages above only work for the beginning of the chapter. If, during the chapter, more orns go by, then the age will obviously change. This also counts for bots that do not show up until later in the chapter. For example, if I were to put the name and age of a bot that doesn't appear until the end, that age would be their age at the beginning of the chapter, not when they show up. I hope that made sense.)**

* * *

**775.03.21 **(775th orn; 3rd quartex; 21st cycle of Golden Age)

Under a blanket of darkness, the Western half of Cybertron recharged. Kaon, Vos, Tarn, Blaster City, Slaughter City, and all the smaller cities in between. Stars glittered in the sky, just tiny pinpricks of light - beacons of hope to the low castes, which was mainly what filled the Western Hemisphere of the planet that sci-fi fans could only dream about.

But in Vos, the city of Seekers, one family was still awake. The carrier sat on a piece of furniture, telling stories of the thirteen Primes to her sons, who listened with interest.

"C'mon, Carrier. Just one more - please?" pleaded the Seekerlets as she looked down at them affectionately. They both resembled their sire tremendously - each had a red-orange chevron shading their bright yellow optics, which held a unique pattern (one of the reasons Firewall had fallen in love with Haywire in the first place), as well as other small features.

Her eldest, an eleven-orn-old mechling who was bright red-orange with blue-green accents like herself, was named Whiplash. Her second oldest looked more like his sire, and had nearly nothing from her side of the family. He was red-orange and white, and he was called Ratchet.

She had a youngest - or would soon - that she had been thinking of names for, but hadn't been able to pick one. There were so many great choices, it was hard to pick one that she thought would fit!

When Whiplash widened his optics and gave Firewall what we call "puppy eyes," she finally had to give in. "Oh…alright," she replied with a grin, causing her SparkMate to shake his helm bemusedly.

"Long ago, before your sire or I were even hatched, there lived great Cybertronians called Primes," she began, glancing between her sons dramatically. "There were thirteen of them, each given a task. They were created by Primus to battle Unicron and exile him from our world. Their leader was called-"

"I know this one!" cried her oldest. "It was Prima! He had the Matrix of Leadership!"

Firewall grinned and patted her son on the shoulder. "That's right, Whiplash! He also wielded the legendary Star Saber, a weapon designed by Solus Prime. The Matrix was in the hilt of the great sword. Solus was the only femme in the group, but she was far from the weakest. We'll get to her in a nanoklik.

"What about Vector Prime? Anyone?" she asked, but neither mechling stepped up. "Alright. He was the guardian of time and space. Just imagine: being able to bend time to your will! That's what Vector Prime could do. He created SpaceBridges without a port or place of origin. He could track bots anywhere.

"Alpha Prime was the archivist. It is because of him that we have information about the Primes in text. He writes down future and past events in the Covenant of Primus with the Quill-"

"What good does a _quill_ do in battle?" asked Whiplash.

"Not all bots have to be fighters, 'Lash." His younger brother finally spoke up. "Not everyone is a warrior."

Whiplash frowned and crossed his servos. "Alright, then. Let's see how long you survive in a battle with a quill."

Ratchet put a digit to his nasal plating in exasperation, then turned back to Firewall and looked at her with hopeful yellow optics.

"Micronus Prime was the first mini-con, and his artifact was the Chimera Stone. Let's see…Alchemist Prime's artifact was the Lenses. They were part of his optics, so they cannot be acquired by any ordinary bots. Nexus Prime was the first combiner, and his artifact was the Enigma of Combination."

"What are the names of the little bots?" Ratchet asked curiously. Whiplash seized the chance to answer. "Clocker, Pinion, Cannonspring, Chaindrive, and Mainspring," he rattled off, earning a smile of approval from his sire.

Firewall chuckled, then continued with her story. "Onyx Prime was the Spirit Warrior, the first bot to transform into a beast, like a Lupin or Predacon. His artifact was the Triptych Mask, which is made up of three faces: Predator, Farsight, and Mournsong. Predator had the ability to see the insight on any creature and hunt it without flaw. Farsight could do as his name suggested: see far away into places and times real and unreal, but only Onyx could tell the difference between the two. Mournsong, the mask of the dead, was lively and vigorous when _not_ in use, but on the front, it was dead and cold. It gave visions only the Prime could comprehend. He lives in the Well of AllSparks now, along with Micronus Prime. They maintain the Well and make sure the NewSparks get out safely.

"Amalgous Prime, the Shape-Shifter, could transform into anything at all. His artifact is the Transformation Cog, which is what our T-cogs are modeled after."

"What about Quintus Prime?" A hushed silence filled the room like a plague. Ratchet glanced around, uncertain of what he said wrong. Finally, Haywire sighed and began to speak.

"Quintus Prime was known as the 'Experimental Dreamer.' He was a scientist who liked to dabble with creation. He, Liege Maximo, and Megatronus Prime created the ancestors of the Quintessons. His artifact was the Emberstone, which allowed him to breathe life into his creations."

Ratchet was tempted to ask about the Quintessons, but he didn't want to make his creators angry with him. He had seen several things in the news lately about some kind of feud with the "Quintessons," so he knew it was a fragile subject.

Firewall persevered on, not allowing the previous question to rattle her.

"Liege Maximo was called the Manipulator. He was Prima's foe. By plotting against the Thirteen and even attempting to overthrow Prima, he sealed his fate. He influenced Megatronus to terminate Solus Prime, and _he_ was the one who started the experiments on the creatures that he and the others created, which eventually became the Quintessons. He was finally terminated in the battle of the Primes after Solus's death.

"Megatronus Prime was a warrior of darkness. He was exiled after he murdered Solus Prime, and was known as the Fallen from that moment on. His artifact is the Requiem Blaster, a weapon forged by Solus for the battle against Unicron."

"What about the last one?" inquired Ratchet. Firewall smiled at him.

"Ah, yes, of course. We can't forget the heroic _Thirteen_. In the Covenant, he was never given a name, perhaps to keep his identity a secret. After all, he remained on Cybertron as a normal bot, but his memories and Prime status were removed. He was called the Visionary because of his motivational speeches and ability to keep the peace. He kept the original Thirteen together and helped resolve arguments. As far as I know, he doesn't have an artifact."

Ratchet and Whiplash smiled, but Firewall could tell that they were ready to power down. She took Ratchet's servo and walked him to his quarters, while Haywire did the same with Whiplash. After the mechlings were in their berths, the creators met in the hallway outside.

When she exited Ratchet's room, Firewall felt herself being swept into an embrace. "Haywire?"

"I have something to tell you," he whispered, keeping his voice down so the mechlings wouldn't hear.

"What?"

He held her out at servo's length and looked into her yellow optics. "Have you heard the rumors?" he asked. Firewall nodded, lubricants threatening to spill down her faceplate. "It's awful," she whispered.

"They aren't rumors anymore, Firewall. They're true," he said, earning a gasp from her. "They've begun their invasion. It started out with random bots disappearing, only to be found dead cycles later in a back alley with alien marks on their chassis. It's escalated into more. Bots are being found in their homes, terminated! Younglings are being forced to watch as their creators are destroyed before their very optics. Workers are being snatched off the walkways!"

Firewall hugged Haywire close. "It will never reach Vos, right?"

"I won't let anything happen to you, SweetSpark."

Little did they know, the Quintessons would not make the same mistake twice. This time, they would make sure they broke every bot on Cybertron's surface. They would bend them to their will, no matter what it took. Gone were the cycles of the past, when they manipulated the bots to their will. Now, they would use brute force to conquer the planet of their origins.

* * *

**776.02.30**

"How long is this going to take?" Whiplash groaned, wiping his servo down his faceplate in exasperation. Haywire shushed him.

"Whiplash, it takes a little bit of time for it to hatch," he whispered.

The cycle had finally come. The newest addition to the family was emerging from its containment unit (CU). Ratchet peered around Haywire and could see the hatchling's servo hanging out of the pod, but that was it. Firewall sat beside the pod, her SparkChamber opened slightly and her Spark pulsing, acting as a guiding light for the hatchling.

Finally, half of the mechling's frame appeared. Ratchet could tell that he was red-orange and a dark silver color, kind of a mix of their creators. The red-orange came from Firewall, who was red-orange and yellow; and the silver came from Haywire, who had blue-green, silver, and white armor.

Getting impatient, Firewall finally reached over and grabbed the Seekerlet under his servos, lifting him out of the pod and onto her lap, where she smiled down at him warmly. Haywire slowly approached and knelt beside her, looking into the yellow optics of his son.

Whiplash rolled his own optics and sat down wearily. He had already gone through this waiting game with Ratchet, and he hadn't rejoiced when he found that he had to do it again. Haywire had told him to stay the whole time, saying it would be a "fine educational experience."

Ratchet, however, found it very interesting. The whole process the NewSpark being collected, and then the Spark energy being meshed with the young Spark before being placed into a pod - it was just amazing!

Eventually, they had decided on a name: Flatline. Personally, Ratchet thought it was kind of a bad name. What if the youngling was put in the science caste? Worse, what if he became a medic? No one would trust a doctor with the name "Flatline."

Of course, it would be a great name if he was placed in the military caste. Most creators named their sparklings _after _they were given a caste, which was about an orn after their hatching, but Firewall and Haywire didn't like that tradition, so they named their hatchlings as soon as they emerged.

"Ratch', 'Lash, c'mere!" called Haywire. Whiplash stood up and trotted over to his creators, Ratchet on his heels. Firewall held Flatline up, inviting her other sons to come see him.

Whiplash approached first and scrutinized Flatline critically, before his expression softened and he smiled at his new brother. Ratchet, on the other servo, approached tentatively, before extending his servo towards the mechling, jumping slightly when the Seekerlet grabbed his digit in a strong fist before grinning up at him and chittering softly in Seeket. Ratchet chittered back, before retreating and standing next to Whiplash.

Life would be interesting for the family of five, especially with what was soon to come.

* * *

**779.09.03**

Ratchet ran up to Whiplash and hugged his strut. "C'mon 'Lash, we have to hurry!" he urged. The night cycle was just beginning as Cybertron's star sank below the horizon, painting the sky a brilliant spectrum of pastels. The twin moons arose, reflecting a pale glow onto the surface.

"Wait up!" called Flatline as he chased after the two. He was only three orns old, but was extremely smart for his age. Many bots underestimated him because of his height, but that would become a grave mistake later on.

Ratchet rolled his optics, but Whiplash waited patiently for the little Seekerlet to catch up. Together the brothers climbed up to the roof of their home. Their particular spot in Vos was great for watching stars.

"Look at that one, 'Lash!" called Ratchet as he pointed to a constellation. Whiplash chuckled, then turned his brother's helm a little to the left. "Look at _that_," he said, pointing. "The NewSparks are coming out."

Far to the west, billions of NewSparks were swimming through the air, making their way from the Well to SparkMates expecting hatchlings. They were all ranges of colors, from bright orange to dark blue.

Suddenly Whiplash reached up and caught a bright scarlet one in his servos, then brought it down and presented it to his brothers, who gazed at it in awe.

"Woah," Flatline breathed, reaching out and poking it softly. Wisps of radiance stuck to his digit as he withdrew it, and he giggled a bit. Ratchet smiled and cupped it in his servos, then gently tossed it back into the air, where it continued on its way.

Flatline waved his servo, a bright smile on his faceplate. "Be safe!" he called cheerily. Whiplash laughed and rubbed Flatline's helm playfully.

"Whiplash! Bring your brothers in - it's time to power down!"

Whiplash groaned, then raised his servo to Haywire in understanding.

"Come on you two, it's time to go inside."

Together they went inside and got ready to power down. As Ratchet climbed onto his berth, Whiplash entered. "G'night cycle, bro," he said quietly.

"I don't wanna recharge, 'Lash!" complained Ratchet with a yawn. Whiplash rubbed his helm comfortingly. "I know," he said.

"I…don't…want…"

The door slowly shut as Whiplash left the room.

Two glowing yellow orbs blinked open in the darkness. They were dim and weary, but online nonetheless. "I don't _wanna_ power down," he said playfully.

The Seekerlet clambered out of his berth and tiptoed to his window. A simple push of a button made the glass flicker out of existence, and he carefully climbed out of the hatch. He kicked his pedes together, activating the thrusters on his heels. They shot him into the sky, where he guided himself to the rooftop and landed, optics on the blanketed darkness all around him, glittering with tiny pinpricks of light.

The NewSparks were still out and about, flitting around. There were thousands all around him, sticking to his plating and making him twirl around, giggling cheerfully.

The entranced Seekerlet slowly let his pedes guide him to a supporting beam in the roof Whiplash had set.

From a window beneath the roof, Whiplash watched with love in his optics. As soon as he was sure his brother was truly in power down, he flew up to the roof and gathered him in his servos. _Funny,_ he thought, _Kup can barely lift _his_ little brother off the ground. _But then again, Ratchet was quite small for his age (a trait he no doubt received from his carrier). Whiplash was pretty tall, but he suspected Flatline would follow in Ratchet's pedesteps.

Slowly, he made his way back inside and lowered Ratchet onto his berth. "G'night cycle, li'l bro," the Wrecker-in-training said affectionately.

Ratchet mumbled and rolled onto his side as Whiplash left the room, then opened his tired optics and looked down at his clasped servos. Upon opening them, an indigo NewSpark floated out and flitted around, casting a dim purple light around the room. The Seekerlet watched as it finally zipped out the open window, and wondered if he would ever meet whatever bot grew from that NewSpark.

* * *

**781.03.24**

"Hurry up, 'Lash, you slowpoke!" Ratchet howled over his shoulder as he whizzed through the city of Vos. Whiplash was on his heels, and gaining ground.

Just like Whiplash and his sire, Ratchet was able to access a visor and wheeled pedes whenever he wished. Frankly, he didn't know if it was an upgrade or genetic, but he didn't care too much.

"Look ahead!" Whiplash suddenly yelled, and Ratchet heard him put on the breaks. He turned his helm and shouted as the edge of the bridge he had been rolling on began to converge on him. With a cry of fear, he vaulted off the bridge and flew right towards a building. Blindly, he grabbed a windowsill as his frame crashed against the wall. Looking down, he got a staggering view of the city below.

"Scrap," he cursed.

"Stay there!" Whiplash called, causing Ratchet to roll his optics, "I'll get someone!"

About five kliks passed before Whiplash was back, but with their carrier. She gave Ratchet a deadpan look as she hovered over to him and pulled him off the building.

"What have I told you two about racing around the city, especially in higher places?" she chastised on their way back.

"Well, we _are _Seekers, Carrier," Whiplash said, grinning, but she frowned at him. "It was Ratchet's idea, anyway!"

"Was not!" came the answering cry of protest.

"Was too!"

"Not!"

"Too!"

"Not!"

"Enough!" Firewall roared, slamming the door behind her as they entered their house. "I don't care whose fault it was. You're _both _in trouble! Whiplash, your punishment is to warm the Energon for Flatline and make sure it's low grade enough for him. Ratchet, your job is to keep an optic on Flatline while I go make sure your sire is alright. He just came back from a particularly taxing match in the stadium."

Ratchet and Flatline glared at each other as Firewall left, but finally turned and went their separate ways to do their chores. Ratchet was not new to sparkling-sitting, but he didn't enjoy it either.

"Boo!" Flatline giggled as he dumped a box of bulkheads onto Ratchet's helm, and he scowled and yanked the box out of the mechling's servos.

"No! Bad, Flatline!" he growled before gathering up the bulkheads and securing the container. "Go play with something else and leave me alone!"

Flatline frowned, then walked over to his berth (the brothers shared a room) and began to play with whatever miscellaneous items he had stored over there.

"Time to refuel!"

Flatline and Ratchet immediately perked up and ran down to where Whiplash was waiting with three Energon cubes.

"One cube extra warm for the little sparkling, one medium for the older sparkling, and one for the nearly-grown almost fully-matured-"

"We get it, 'Lash," Ratchet huffed, and the mech grinned.

"Enjoy!"

Firewall and Haywire didn't return until later, and by that time all three mechlings were deep in power down.

* * *

**A bit of fluff before the story really gets rolling. Yes, Ratchet is a Seeker in this story, but it still works with canon because...I don't want to give away anything. ;)**

**I only own my OCs. Everything else belongs to Hasbro.**


	2. Strike for Love

**This chapter is really short. Sorry about that.**

**Song: **"Frozen Heart" - Cast of Frozen

**Ultra Magnus is eleven orns old. Kup is sixteen.**

* * *

**780.06.32**

_Clang!_

The sound of hammers rang throughout the mines beneath Blaster City. Kup chatted quietly with his comrade, Crosshair, a bulky Grounder, as they mined at a particularly hard piece of Energon.

"Have you heard about the recent Quintesson attacks? Some civilians up in Polyhex were murdered last cycle."

"If you ask me, they deserved it. Those upper-class snobs are always looking down on us, it's high time someone handed their afts to them."

"But _termination_? Does it really have to escalate to that extreme, Crosshair?"

Magnus huffed in boredom as he listened to his brother and Crosshair carry on about the Quintessons. It wasn't like the Elite Guard couldn't just beat them down! Finally, weary of the bickering, the mechling hopped off of his seat of scrapmetal and jogged over to a pile of abandoned pickaxes. He figured that if his designated caste was labor, why not start practicing now?

His first attempt at lifting the tool was humorously pathetic, but he got it on the second try. Luckily for him, Magnus was tall and strong for his age. Orns of working in the mines, even if you aren't exactly "working," will do that to you.

Staggering to a small hunk of Energon, Magnus lifted the axe and…dropped it on his pede.

He howled and fell on his aft, hugging his pede to his chassis as tight as he could. Kup came running, a hard expression on his faceplate but a glint of humor in his optics.

"Now why would you do that, Magnus? You aren't old enough yet!" he chastised. Magnus frowned and shakily stood up, leaning on the wall for support. "Shut up," he growled playfully, a hint of pain still in his voice.

"Perhaps you should go back up. Maybe get some Energon for tonight?" Kup suggested, but it wasn't a suggestion, more of an order. He was already digging some credits out of his subspace.

"Here you go," he said, handing Magnus the credits, who took them without a word. "I'll be home soon, 'kay?"

"Alright."

* * *

Running through the streets (albeit limping slightly), Magnus was in his element in Blaster City. Finally he made it to the plaza, where all the vendors set up shop, advertising various things for sale. Since they lived in the lower caste areas, the black market was also quite popular. Selling frame parts, high grade, and various other trinkets for low prices, many bots took advantage of the system to buy unusual upgrades for themselves. Magnus had heard a lot about bots purchasing secondary sets of audio receptors, optics, and even servos!

But the black market wasn't where he was going. Magnus raced over to his usual vendor: Freeway, a sleek Racer who sold basic necessities like Energon.

"Hey, bud!" called Freeway when Magnus approached. "The usual?"

"Yeah."

Freeway crouched behind his stand and grabbed a few Energon cubes, setting them on the counter between them. Without a word, Magnus placed the credits on the counter and subspaced the Energon. "Thanks, Freeway!" he called as he started home. Freeway gave a little wave, then returned to his business.

Magnus reached home and collapsed on a piece of furniture. He grabbed a remote and turned on the outdated holodisplay, which immediately switched to the news. Normally Magnus didn't pay attention to the news - it was boring! - but what was this?

_"Breaking news: We are here, live at Blaster City, where the main Energon mining operations have been bombed by - we presume - the Quintessons! Search and rescue teams are working frantically to locate and save the miners, but…"_

The video feed continued on, but Magnus was long gone.

* * *

_Sparks are cheap in Blaster City._

Magnus didn't believe a word that news broadcast said. Who cared about the lower castes? Nobody! No one would probably even bother to count those who had fallen. Maybe they would attempt a rescue, but they probably wouldn't try very hard.

He was blocked by a pair of Enforcers.

"I'm sorry, mechling, but you aren't permitted here."

He struggled hard, protesting: "But my brother's in there! My _brother_,_ you monsters_!"

Finally he stopped, vents cycling hard to keep him from overheating. "Kup…" he whispered as the Enforcers escorted him back into the safe zone.

* * *

Breems passed, and Magnus only sat at the edge of the site and waited. Rescue teams came up frequently with injured and terminated bots, but he never saw Kup, although he thought he did see Crosshair. He hoped he was okay. He hoped they both were.

_I wish this whole fragging war would just stop! Our whole planet is always so centered around fighting, war, and termination. Why can't we just make peace? _It was a question that many often wondered.

Then he saw it. The familiar flash of green armor. The blue optics.

"Kup!"

This time the Enforcers didn't try to stop him. He ran right for his brother and put a reassuring servo on his back.

"Watch out, mechling," commanded a medic. He was a Seeker with black and purple armor. A nameplate clipped to his torso read _Lifeline_.

Magnus nodded numbly. "Okay."

He was still numb when they wheeled the dead and injured away, and even more numb when Kup was placed in a transport and flown to Praxus for medical care. Fortunately, Kup's friend, Ambulon (who was also a medic) found him and took him to Praxus as well. Roadblock and Whiplash, two of Kup's other friends, were there as well, and greeted Magnus and Ambulon with nervous looks.

And it was there, in the Praxian Medical Center, that Magnus stayed. He sat beside his brother's berth and prayed to Primus, to all thirteen Primes, to every deity he could think of.

* * *

**Yes, Kup is Magnus's big brother in this fic. Magnus is so cute, too! :P**


	3. Life's a Game Made for Everyone

**This chapter is actually three mashed together because individually they were too short. Enjoy!**

**Song: **"Wake Me Up" - Avicii

**Wheeljack is eleven orns old. Pyro is five. Perceptor is twelve. Pharma is eleven. Wolfsbane is five.**

* * *

**781.05.48**

Altihex was a higher caste city home to artists - audial and visual, scientists, engineers, and even medics. It was a peaceful city, but there was the occasional crime, as in every densely populated area.

With the Second Quintesson War looming on the horizon, Cybertron was preparing itself for battle. Bots now stored blasters and blades in their homes, and a few had even scanned some onto their T-cogs. Younglings were usually accompanied by adults or older younglings, and no one was allowed out during the night cycle.

The academy in Altihex was a prestigious place, and most who went their led a good life. They learned science, math, and the other basics, but each youngling was allowed to choose a class that pertained to their caste. For example, younglings assigned to the art caste could choose music, comedy, visual arts, theater arts, architecture, acting, and other such classes. Scientists could choose the medical class, engineering, experimentations, chemistry, etc. Since Altihex was a city based on art and science, those were the main castes they supported. Any youngling who got a separate caste was usually shipped off to an academy in another city focused on their talent.

"Hurry up, Pyro!" called a red, white, and green mechling as he raced out the doors of the academy. His younger brother bolted out after him, servos spread wide and helm thrust into the air.

"Freedom at last!" he yelled. Pyro was assigned to the science caste, but he couldn't make up his mind on what to be. A medic? No, too gory. An engineer? No, he didn't want to copy Wheeljack. A chemist? Now that he thought about it, it had a nice ring to it. Dr. Pyro the Chemical Labs Expert. Besides, he would get to create cool new potions and other stuff - right?

Wheeljack, on the other hand, was going to be an engineer, like his sire. He already had about a gazillion ideas for things to build. Unfortunately, his inventions had a tendency to explode.

"Come on, we're gonna be late!" he said impatiently. Finally Pyro caught up, and they walked home.

"Home" being on the other side of the city, unfortunately. Wheeljack's family lived on the opposite side of Altihex, in the poor sector. His creators were both scientists, but the richer, higher families always seemed to "steal" their glory (well, that's what the low castes, said, anyway). Wheeljack didn't entirely understand it all, but he knew from his sire's rants that he didn't like the richer families who lived in the nicer sectors near the academy.

It started getting darker and darker the further they went. Something didn't feel right to Wheeljack, but he just assumed he was being paranoid. He was so very, very wrong.

When they arrived at their complex, the door was cracked open just a bit. Pyro started walking slower, suspicious. It was uncommon in the poor sector for doors to be left open, as thieves patrolled the streets daily and took every chance they could get to steal some poor mech or femme's valuables.

Wheeljack cautiously approached the door and shifted his servo into a flashlight. Pyro clung to his strut and peeked out from behind him.

_That's odd, all the lights are off._

He slowly put his digit up to the button and pushed it, causing the bright lights to flicker on with a hiss.

_Sire needs to replace those bulbs,_ he thought instinctively as he continued through the entrance room. He walked into a small hallway which had doors on either side lining the walls. The door at the very end was the master bedroom.

They checked every room, but there was nothing. All they could find were crooked photographs in their room, some scattered test tubes in the lab, and most of Aftershock's tools cracked in half on his workbench.

The only room left was the master bedroom. Pyro tried pushing the activation button, but the doors were locked. Finally Wheeljack wedged a crowbar he had found in his sire's lab between them and got them to spread apart. What was inside horrified the younglings.

The walls were soaked with Energon. The berths were tipped over, and a light beam was even hanging down from the ceiling. In the center of the room was a half organic, half robotic creature that the younglings had never seen before. The creature was encased in some kind of large, robotic exosuit that filled up the room, and its face was marred with a large scar slashing across the space where its left eye had been. The right eye was coal black and cold, and its skin was sickening shade of green. Several tentacle-like appendages emerged from its head and face, adding to the grotesqueness of it all.

It stared Wheeljack down, then grinned with a sickly smile that horrified him to no end. "Hello there, young ones. Are you looking for someone?" it hissed. Pyro nodded, but Wheeljack started to back up towards the door, until another creature blocked his escape route. The only way out now was the window, which was on the other side of the room, and blocked by the first monster.

"I think I know what they're looking for," snarled the one behind Wheeljack. It gestured to the other, and it moved aside slowly, revealing something more terrifying than the Energon on the walls or the monsters in the room with them.

There were two chairs tied back to back in the middle of the room with energy coils. Binds of coil were also placed around each chair, holding two frames up. One was slender and feminine with white armor and green detailing. The other was a bit bulkier, with red armor and small detailings of blue and orange. They were barely sitting upright, and would have collapsed onto the floor if not for the coils. Energon dripped steadily from wounds all over their frames, and their optics were flickering ominously.

Wheeljack couldn't even tell if they were still functional.

"Carrier!" Pyro shrieked and started run forward, but Wheeljack grabbed him and hugged him to his chassis, afraid to lose anyone else.

_::On the count of three we are going to run to the window and escape, okay?::_ he commed Pyro, who glanced up at him with dull optics.

_::Okay.::_ The response was weak, but there.

"Why?" Wheeljack asked. The creature looked at him and cocked its head.

_::One.::_

"Because the Quintessons are superior. We have always been and will always be better than you race."

_That's right! It's a Quintesson!_

"But we were created by Primus, and you were created by Quintus, who was created by Primus," he protested, earning a snort of indignation from the Quintesson.

_::Two.::_

"Quintus, Liege Maximo, and Megatronus to be exact," it said arrogantly.

_::Three!::_

"I would love to stay and chat, but I'm on a tight schedule," Wheeljack said. The Quintessons blinked in a confused manner, trying to process why he said that, but they quickly figured it out when the mechlings sprinted to the window.

He shoved Pyro out first, then turned around and shone his flashlight in the optic - eye? - of the Quintesson, buying him about a nanoklik of time to climb through the window.

They ran fast and hard; the only thing on their processors was to escape, to get as far away as they could. Wheeljack was still in shock about his creators; he hadn't really had time to mourn. What would they do now?

* * *

When they finally stopped for rest in a back alley, Wheeljack dug some credits out of his subspace. Together they only had about fifteen - enough for a few Energon cubes.

He was so busy counting the credits that he didn't notice five dark shapes drop down beside them, surrounding them.

"Uh, Jackie?" Pyro asked as he banged on Wheeljack's shoulder. "We've got company."

He looked up and muttered a curse when he saw the older bots all eyeing them greedily.

"Hey there, mechlings. Mind sharing some of those credits?" the mech growled with a sinister grin. Wheeljack's optics widened as slowly tucked the credits back into his subspace. "S-sorry, sir, but we don't have any to spare," he stuttered. His voice sounded shaky and childish to his audio receptors, and his finials blinked a faint yellow with uncertainty and nervousness.

"Is that so, Light Bulb?" snarled the mech. "Well, I'm sure you won't need them anymore when _we're_ done with you."

Wheeljack slowly backed up, but his back hit the back of the alley too soon. He and Pyro were cornered.

_::Wheeljack, look,::_ commed Pyro. He then sent a 360 degree image of the space they were in, and zoomed in on a ladder a few kleps from where he was standing.

_::I see it,::_ Wheeljack sent back.

The mech was coming closer, his sharp digits stretched out and ready to clobber Wheeljack into submission. The mechling watched closely, logging his movements and tracking him, predicting where he would strike. When the larger bot finally made his move, Wheeljack was ready.

He ducked, then stuck his strut out and tripped the gang leader, causing him to fall hard on the ground.

"Now, Pyro!" he yelled. Together they escaped up the ladder. Hopefully the larger mechs wouldn't be able to follow. The ladder was pretty small and seemed flimsy.

* * *

On the roofs of the buildings in Altihex was where Wheeljack counted their credits again, and rethought their supplies.

"We're gonna need protection gear, weapons, Energon," he mumbled to himself. It was nearly night cycle, and he could already see the moons rising above the horizon.

"C'mon, Pyro, we're going to the plaza."

They ran on the roofs of the buildings, not wanting to get caught in an alley again. It may have slowed them down, but at least they were safer. Luckily, the plaza wasn't too far away from where they started. _Un_luckily, it was night cycle by the time they arrived, which meant the black market vendors were the majority of what was available.

"What are we going to get?" Pyro asked, tugging on Wheeljack's servo.

"See that mech over there?" he asked, pointing to one of the vendors. "He's got all sorts of stuff. I was thinking about getting some kind of weapon."

Pyro nodded. "I'll stay here."

"Good idea."

Wheeljack's finials blinked yellow as he cautiously approached the vendor he had pointed to earlier, who had various masks, extra armor plating, and weapons on his counter.

"Um, sir?" he asked quietly. The mech looked down at him in surprise. It wasn't often one saw younglings at the market.

"Hey there, mechling. What do ya want?" he half growled, half asked. The mechling handed him seven credits.

"Do you have any weapons for this much?"

The mech rooted around and grabbed a pair of old katanas.

"These is the cheapest things I've got."

Wheeljack nodded and took the blades. "Thanks."

"Here, I'll this in free," the vendor told him, tossing him a set of extra armor installations that would hold the blades. "They hook onto your back. For you they'd go between your winglets."

The mechling nodded again, then jogged away, albeit a little awkwardly.

They also managed to stock up on four Energon cubes, as well as the katanas. Not bad for just fifteen credits. Although, Wheeljack had to admit, the katanas were kind of big and bulky to carry around, but he was sure they would prove their worth.

They managed to find an old, run-down building that seemed to be unoccupied. Wheeljack dusted off some of the furniture and curled up on an old berth. This seemed okay. They would manage.

Wouldn't they?

* * *

**781.06.02**

It was only about a vorn after the incident with the Quintessons; only a vorn since Wheeljack and Pyro had been kicked out on the streets. They hadn't really had time to actually process the information; they had been too busy trying to survive! But now that they actually sat down and thought about it, Wheeljack could feel the pain coming to him.

He was surprised about one thing, though. Why hadn't they felt the pain when the bond broke? Wheeljack had asked Pyro about it, but the mechling said he hadn't felt anything either.

During the night cycles, and even when they were resting during the daytime, Wheeljack could hear sobs drifting from Pyro's berth. He didn't dare try and comfort him, for fear that he would start weeping as well.

Meanwhile, Wheeljack was on the DataNet, looking up reasons for the absence of pain. Don't get it wrong, he wasn't complaining; but Wheeljack was a curious mech, and always wanted to know _why _something happened.

_Here's something,_ he thought to himself. He clicked on the link and it brought up a document that had all the ins and outs of Bonds. _This is gonna take awhile._

* * *

**Everything You Need to Know About SparkBonds**

A SparkBond is something, sort of like a link, between bots that are related or romantically involved. The Bond reaches out amongst your family members and keeps you all connected. Your Bond will be strongest with your creators, creations, and siblings. Cousins, aunts and uncles, grand-creators, and everything else will have a bit of a weaker bond. The Bond with your creators and creations are the strongest, siblings being next.

Creator Bonds are the most noticeable because your Spark comes directly from them (and vice-versa for Creation Bonds). Your siblings are next because their Sparks come directly from those bots as well. Every other bot has sort of a secondary bond, as you only link to them because of another bot.

For example, you are only linked to a cousin because of your creators, who are linked to their siblings, and their siblings' creations. The same works for an aunt or uncle; you are only linked to them because of your creators.

**What About a SparkMate?**

SparkMates are a little complicated. It is possible to have more than one SparkMate, but only one at a time. When a bot bonds with another, their Sparks are linked - Bonded. Just like every other Bond, when the link is broken, which can only happen if a bot is terminated, the Spark on the living end of the Bond will crack, just a little bit. Fortunately, you only feel the pain of any crack if the bot dies in a painful way (murder, suicide, etc.).

After that Bond is broken, a bot may become linked to a new SparkMate, but there is a chance the Bond won't be as powerful as the first (but in some cases, it is even more powerful).

**Sparklings?**

A NewSpark is an unhatched sparkling. Periodically, they burst from the Well in swarms of lights, flying to couples of SparkMates that have Bonded and have requested sparklings.

The sire or carrier will take a NewSpark and place inside the containment unit that they constructed. After that, they will each Bond their Spark with the NewSpark, marking it as their own and inputting strands of CNA. The NewSpark will grow inside the CU until it hatches, becoming a hatchling. At the age of two orns, it is called a sparkling. The sparkling receives its caste, where it will train for the rest of its life cycle once it is old enough to go to an academy. _Please note: sometimes, especially during war, a NewSpark will be placed into a mature protoform (usually about fifteen to twenty orns). This way they can be called upon immediately to go into battle (although this is a very rare occurrence and has only happened three times in Cybertronian history; those bots did not lead very long lives and their Sparks were weak, unable to retain powerful bonds)._

The sparkling becomes known as a youngling once it is five orns old and mature enough to go to the local academy to learn the basic skills like math, science, history, etc. When it is ten, the youngling will begin training in their specific caste, and may even be sent to other cities if that caste is not taught in their home city. This is unless they are in the labor caste. If this is the case, they will be given a mentor, who will teach them the craft, but they will not begin work until fifteen.

At fifteen orns, younglings' T-cogs have matured enough to scan altmodes. Some bots have two or more altmodes available; they are known as triple-changers. Each bot, when hatched, has a standard protocol it must adhere to.

There are several races of Cybertronian:

Lupin (T-cogs are already loaded when they hatch; modern Predacons)

Felida (just like Lupin with pre-loaded T-cogs; modern Predacons)

Predacons (extinct, but just like Lupin with pre-loaded T-cogs; may come in three forms: griffin, dragon, and avian)

Insecticon (just like Lupin with pre-loaded loaded T-cogs; modern Predacons)

Arachnicons (they are considered Triple Changers because of their ability to switch their struts for thinner arachnid-like struts, but may also load an altmode onto their T-cog)

Racers (they have doorwings and are usually fast automobiles)

Cyclers (they have winglets and only two wheels)

Grounders (automobiles with wheelsets mounted on their backs or nothing on their backs)

Copters (helicopter bots with rotors mounted on their backs)

Seekers (jets with wings on their backs)

Tankers (bots with cannons mounted on their shoulders or elsewhere in their body and transform into tanks)

There may be sub-races of certain bots. Some Seekers may have their wings placed elsewhere on their body, besides the back. The same goes for Copters.

Twenty orns is officially classified as a fully matured bot.

**Can You Block a Bond?**

It is possible to block a Bond. It is not recommended, as it may slowly sap the strength of bots on both sides. However, this feature can also be used to block out pain when one side is lost. If a bot is terminated, they may block the Bond to keep someone else from feeling the pain of the crack. The bot on the other side may also block the Bond to keep themselves from feeling the pain.

* * *

Wheeljack stared at the screen with weary optics, but curiosity was burning in his Spark. _Is that what Sire and Carrier did - block the Bond?_ He sighed and pushed his seat away from the table and datapad. He was too tired to worry any more about it.

They had been lucky to acquire all the supplies they had. Wheeljack had stolen the datapad from one of the vendors in the Plaza, and Pyro had bartered for Energon and home comforts after they had used up their original four cubes.

"Jackie, what's that?"

Wheeljack turned around to see Pyro standing in the hall, looking out an old window to something in the lot outside. Wheeljack jogged up and gently nudged Pyro aside to have a look for himself. There were three younglings outside; two mechs and a younger femme. They looked to be orphans as well, but Wheeljack didn't want to take any chances.

One of the mechs was covered mostly in red armor, but he had teal servos and a microscope-cannon thing on his shoulder. _A Tanker?_ Wheeljack thought absentmindedly as he observed them. The other one was red and white with a white chevron on his helm. He had teal struts and servos as well. The last one, the femme, looked a lot like the red and white mechling, except she was covered in lilac-colored armor.

Suddenly the three younglings looked up at the window. Wheeljack ducked and stalled his vents in panic. After waiting for a few kliks, he peered out the window again, but the bots were gone. He sighed in relief, but something made him catch his breath again.

"Wheeljack, help!"

"Don't move!"

Wheeljack sprinted into the main room, but froze when he saw the _same three younglings _standing in front of Pyro, the red one pointing the cannon at his helm. "I said: _Don't move_," he snarled, glaring at Wheeljack, who held his servos up in surrender. "Don't shoot!" he pleaded, willing to do anything to protect his little brother.

The other mech gestured around the room. "How long have you been here?" he asked.

Wheeljack shrugged. "About six cycles."

The mechling nodded, then turned to the red mechling and raised his optic ridges. "I think you can lower the gun now, Percy," he said. Percy stared him down for a moment, then finally turned away from Pyro and cross his servos.

"You have to go."

"Woah, Percy, stop," the other mech said, getting between Wheeljack and the red mechling. "What if they were to stay?"

"Pharma, really–"

"Perceptor, listen to me! What if they stayed, but they earned their keep? They're obviously in a similar situation to us. Remember when we were first booted out here?"

Perceptor huffed and glanced at the ground, then looked back up at Wheeljack, his blue optics softer than before.

"What do you say, mech? Want to stay? You'd have to prove yourself, though."

Wheeljack looked around. Would it be worth it? If they left, they would have nowhere to go. But could they really trust these three younglings? Finally he sighed and rubbed the back of his helm.

"We'll stay."

Perceptor nodded. "Alright. My name is Perceptor. The mechling beside me is Pharma, and the femme is his little sister, Wolfsbane. Who are you?"

Wheeljack gestured to Pyro. "This is my little brother, Pyro. I'm Wheeljack."

Perceptor nodded. "Good." Then he grinned. "Are you ready for an adventure?"

* * *

**781.08.07**

About three quartexes had passed since Wheeljack and Pyro had met Perceptor and his group, and the work was grueling. They must have worn their digits down to the protoform with how much heavy lifting they did.

Finally, it was time for some real action. Today, they would visit the vendors of Altihex and – instead of buying – they were going to steal some equipment, and maybe some credits as well, seeing as they were low.

Everyone had a specific part to play in the theft. Wolfsbane and Pyro were to distract the vendors, seeing as they were the youngest and most appealing. It was classic and cliche, but it almost always worked. Pharma and Wheeljack, being the stealthiest, would actually take the goods. Perceptor would be standing watch, ready to alert his teammates if someone tried anything fishy.

"Hello, sir!" called out Wolfsbane as she approached the vendor, Pyro on her heels. "What do you have for sale?" she asked, turning her big blue optics on him innocently. Pyro tried the same tactic, but it didn't seem to be working for him, so he settled for a passive expression instead.

The vendor ducked beneath his counter, then came back up and smiled at Wolfsbane. Pyro thought he caught a bit of malice in the grin, but he could have been imagining it.

"I've got Energon cubes and rust sticks, as well as some assorted armor pieces and add-ons," the vendor announced slyly. Behind him, hidden in a pile of scrap, were Wheeljack and Pharma, who listened intently, anticipating the moment when they would get to savor the sweets. The armor pieces would be helpful too.

Slowly, Wheeljack and Pharma snuck forward. They were so close Wheeljack could practically taste the rust sticks dissolving on his glossa. Their sweet taste enveloping him and – right, the mission. He reached out a servo and grasped the container of rust sticks, then slowly withdrew. Subspacing the container, he reached out again and grabbed hold of a box of Energon cubes. He had just subspaced them when a piercing shriek glitched out his audio receptors.

Wheeljack and Pharma stumbled backwards, clutching their audials in pain, but Wheeljack managed to catch a glimpse of the vendor holding both Pyro and Wolfsbane by their clavicular armor and starting to walk away. He also noticed that Perceptor was leaping down from his vantage point atop one of the buildings, his cannon pointed at the vendor. Wheeljack knew they were only younglings, and low on Energon at that, so the blast would hardly be powerful enough to incapacitate him, but it would certainly cause him some pain.

The vendor growled and let go of Wolfsbane when the blast struck his wrist, but he firmly held Pyro in the other. He transformed and drove away before any of the younglings could do anything to solve the dilemma.

"No!" Wheeljack roared, but Pharma caught his servo before he could give chase. The mechling tugged Wheeljack along, his grip firm and unyielding.

Pharma and Wheeljack rushed over to Wolfsbane and helped her into an alley where Perceptor was waiting. Wheeljack stalked right up to him and poked him in the chassis with a digit. "You knew that was going to happen, didn't you? The vendor obviously knew what we were doing, and you didn't warn us! Pyro could be hurt! He could be scared! And you let that glitched out fragger take him away!" he snarled. Perceptor glowered at him and scowled. "For your information, I _did_ try to stop him–"

"And you saved _Wolfsbane_. What about my little brother?"

"Wolfsbane has proven to be more beneficial to our group than Pyro has thus far. We have better chances of survival–"

"Frag you and your logic!"

"I was _going_ to say: We have better chances of survival and retrieving Pyro if we have Wolfsbane. She obviously knows how to use her appearances and nature to the best of her ability, and she is incredibly stealthy. We have a greater chance of success if we use her to rescue Pyro than if I had saved Pyro, and we had to use him to rescue her."

Wheeljack blinked, processing all that the Tanker had just said. Finally he grunted in approval.

"Fine. Whatever. Can we just go now and get my little brother back?" he asked. Perceptor nodded.

"I know where they will be taking him."

* * *

Wheeljack, Perceptor, and Pharma were currently atop a roof of a building next to the Altihex Protoform Rehabilitation Center (AKA the Altihex PRC), the place for all creatorless younglings. If Pyro was taken there, the bots would probably never get him back. That's why they were waiting. They had worked together (which was a miracle for Perceptor and Wheeljack) to create a plan. Now they just had to wait and see if it worked.

"So...what now?"

"Shh!"

"Why do _I_ have to be quiet? This is all your fault you kno–"

"Shut _up_!" growled Perceptor as he clapped his servo over Wheeljack's mouth. "Do you want to rescue your brother or _not_?"

Wheeljack slapped Perceptor's servo away and glared at him indignantly. "Of _course_ I do!"

"Then _be quiet_!"

Pharma rolled his optics at the bickering pair. "Guys, look." He said as he pointed to the street, where a pair of Enforcers had just pulled up and transformed. Huddled between them was the small form of Pyro. Wheeljack started forward, but Perceptor yanked him back by the winglet, causing him to grunt in pain.

"We still have to be tactical about this," he hissed to the younger mechling, before turning and giving Wolfsbane, who was waiting in the shadows by the street, a nod of his helm.

Wolfsbane stepped out of the shadows and confronted the Enforcers. Wheeljack couldn't hear her, but he could guess what she was saying.

"Excuse me sirs, but that's my li'l brother you have there. He ran away from home again, and our creators are worried sick!" she said. The Enforcers glared at her skeptically. One of them leaned down and scrutinized her. "Alright, femmeling, where are your creators then?"

Wolfsbane stared him down, her bright blue optics rivaling his red ones. "Well, sir, my carrier has a virus, and my sire is watching over her at the medical facility. Pyro and I were sent out to purchase some Energon–"

"You mean _steal_?" snarled the second Enforcer. "Don't think we don't know what happened in the plaza. Sorry, little femme, but criminal offenses must be punished." He made a grab for her, but Wolfsbane dodged.

Perceptor signaled to Wheeljack and Pharma, and they all scampered down from the building and approached the Enforcers. Wheeljack, being the smallest and quickest besides Wolfsbane, darted forward and snatched Pyro away. Luckily, the Enforcers were too distracted by the others to notice the mechling had gone missing.

Wolfsbane squeaked as one made a grab for her, but she stumbled away and climbed onto the roof of a nearby building, out of the Enforcer's reach. Pharma and Perceptor disappeared into the shadows, eventually making their way on top of the building. The group of younglings quickly fled to their abandoned building.

That night cycle, Wheeljack held his little brother close as he slowly drifted into power down. Pharma and Wolfsbane leaned against each other on a small couch. Perceptor sat on the windowsill, watching the other members of his group. He was the oldest, and therefore had the most responsibility. It was hard, sometimes. That cycle he had felt an emotion he hadn't experienced since the termination of his creators: failure. Failure to save Pyro. Failure to keep everyone safe. Failure to successfully provide for his team.

Did they blame him? No. Even Wheeljack understood, eventually. But Perceptor didn't know that.

He finally fell into power down just as Cybertron's twin moons began to sink, and its lone star rose above the horizon, bathing the surface in a cold, blue glow.

Little did they know, that would be the last time the star would dawn on a free Cybertron for a long, long time.

* * *

**This chapter has some educational value...If you're Cybertronian. And we finally meet Percy and Pharma, as well as my OC.**


	4. Looking for a Way Out

**This chapter introduces a very important OC, Backbeat.**

**Song: **"Evacuate" - Baasik

**Backbeat, Wheeljack, Skywarp, and Pharma are twelve. Remix is fifteen. Ratchet, Ultra Magnus, and Thundercracker are thirteen. Flatline, Pyro, Wolfsbane, and Starscream are six. Whiplash and Kup are seventeen. Slipstream is nine.**

* * *

**782.06.03/000.01.01 (of Age of Tenacity)**

Many would think that Kaon was the worst place to live, and they were certainly right. However, Kaon had its pros as well as its cons.

When a Cybertronian youngling came of age, AKA fifteen orns, their T-cogs were considered mature enough to handle a full-on frame transformation, like an altmode. Before the age of fifteen orns, younglings were only allowed to have minimal loads on their T-cogs. Things such as flashlights and other necessities were the only things allowed.

A family living in Kaon was preparing for that special day when a youngling "grows up," as the creators always put it. Shortcircuit and Afterglow were beaming with joy, bustling around their humble abode, preparing for the trip into the city to look for altmodes.

Meanwhile, Remix, the femme coming of age, was laying flat on her berth. Her winglets were flattened out behind her, and her two wheels were spinning in agitation. Remix's sire, Shortcircuit, was a Racer. Her carrier, Afterglow, was a Seeker. Remix was a Cycler. She had two wheels in place of her pedes, obviously, and winglets.

Suddenly there was movement on Remix's silver chassis as a small heap moved and stretched, letting out a yawn.

"G'morning, sis," muttered the chrome Seekerlet as she crawled off of her sister. Remix patted Backbeat's helm, chuckling affectionately. Backbeat, her little sister, was twelve orns old. She had chrome, black, and orange armor. Remix shared the chrome/silver armor, but the similarities stopped there. The chrome had come from their sire, but Backbeat had gotten the black from her carrier.

Remix, on the other servo, had gold detailing like their sire. Her carrier was silver, black, and gold, so they assumed that Backbeat had gotten the orange from her uncle, Haywire. He was Afterglow's brother, and had a family in Vos. He was a former gladiator, but his SparkMate, Firewall, had convinced him to leave that life behind after it threatened to endanger their sons.

Remix had only met her cousins once. She had been twelve orns at the time, only three orns younger than one of her cousins, Whiplash. Her other cousin, Ratchet, had been ten orns. Backbeat had been nine. If she recalled correctly, they had visited their Vosian cousins because Firewall and Haywire had hatched a third youngling, a mech. They had named him Flatline, and to tell the truth, he was a cute little thing. He had orange and white armor like his sire, but also had a lot of black and bright red from his carrier.

Remix shook her helm. She shouldn't dwell on the past. Besides, she was meeting Flashback today! Flashback was Remix's…erm, _friend_. They had grown up in Kaon together, and among Remix's other friends, he was her best. They were going with her sire to choose their altmodes.

"Bye, sis!" called Backbeat as she swiftly vacated the room, speed enhancers activating with a click. A smooth mask slid over her faceplate, and the takeoff wheels on her pedes disconnected from their locked positions, lifting her pedes off the ground and letting the wheels take over. Finally, the thrusters in the heels of her pedes activated, propelling her forward with a burst of flame.

Remix rolled her optics in exasperation. She was sure Backbeat was just showing off her speed enhancers to make the Cycler jealous.

Two-wheelers came in many different shapes and sizes. Although most were slim, some had certain assets that others did not. Remix was one of the few who could connect her struts together, forming one long strut to roll around on. The other wheel moved up the back of her trods, allowing her complete control. It helped her improve her balance, really, preparing her for the day she obtained her altmode.

A sharp cry of "Remix, get down here, now! We have to leave if we're going to meet Flashback!" snapped her out of her reverie. Remix sighed and pulled herself to her pedes, stretching and casually walking towards her sire's voice.

* * *

"Why didn't we just pick the one that was three vendors back?" Remix groaned, rubbing her helm in frustration. Flashback rolled his helm around, easing a crick in his neck cabling, then nodded. Shortcircuit rolled around and pointed a digit at them. "Because I want what is best for you!" he said crossly. "I don't want you getting some scrappy altmode that does you no justice!"

Remix merely rolled her optics and groaned dramatically, then cast a sideways glance at Flashback. The mech in question leaned in to her audio receptor and whispered, "Control freak!" Remix snorted, then followed her sire into the market to look at more potential altmodes.

"How's this?" Shortcircuit asked, pointing to a slick-looking cycle. Remix walked closer and looked at it admiringly. It had a powerful engine, but was curvy and attractive all the same. Remix grinned and nodded, then handed the vendor the correct amount of credits. He pressed a button, removing the scan lock on the vehicle so Remix could equip it.

Meanwhie, Flashback had found his own sweet ride. A new model, it was equipped with a roaring engine, smooth rims, and futuristic doors, something that would surely add sauce to his bipedal mode. He quickly scanned it, gritting his denta against the light pain that followed as his armor reformatted itself to match the dimensions of the automobile.

Remix, Shortcircuit, and Flashback met back up at the entrance to the market. Flashback and Remix admired each other's new modifications, before Remix smirked challengingly.

"Hey Flash, you wanna race?" she asked. Flashback glanced at her and grinned.

"You're on!"

They transformed and raced off with a roar, leaving a faint scent of burning rubber. Shortcircuit sighed and shook his helm, but quickly followed suit.

It was just as she imagined it to be; the road beneath her wheels, the wind rushing past her winglets, Remix was in paradise. She was yanked from that haven, though, as something landed in her path with a rumble, causing her to swerve to avoid impact. Transforming, Remix faced the offender with a growl, but her expression faded when she caught sight of the thing.

It was covered in a large, robotic exosuit. The creature inside had slimy-looking green skin and the darkest eyes Remix had ever seen. The thing hissed, then pulled out a laser rifle and pointed it directly at her.

Remix wasn't stupid, and she knew that in this proximity, the blast would terminate her instantly. Frantically, she searched her memory banks, trying to determine what the creature was. Suddenly she wished she hadn't left Flashback to eat her dust, he would sure be a big help right about now!

Then it clicked. She knew what the creature was: a Quintesson. Created by Quintus Prime, the Quintessons enslaved the bots already living on Cybertron, and started building their own. The art of SparkMerging and Sparking hatchlings was lost to the sands of time, and bots started becoming precisely what organics called them: robots. Then one cycle, a few bots rose up. Led by A3, who was secretly Alpha Prime in disguise, they staged a revolution. Eventually, the bots prevailed. SparkMerging and Sparking became common again, and the Quintessons were thought to be extinct.

"Thought" being the key word here. Remix dodged as the Quintesson struck at her again, but she knew she couldn't keep it up forever. How long did it take a single Racer to come to her aid? Flashback was either too slow, or…Scrap! Flashback had probably been caught by a Quintesson as well, leaving Remix to fend for herself.

The Quintesson lunged again, and Remix dodged once more. Then she twirled around on one pede, having disconnected her struts, and crashed her palm against the Quintesson's jaw, slamming his teeth together and causing him to howl in pain when he bit his tongue. He angrily grabbed her servo and lifted it high, pulling the rest of her along with it, then he slammed her into the ground.

Remix lay stunned on the ground for a nanoklik, before she pushed herself up and took a fighting stance. _I guess I should be lucky Sire taught me self-defense,_ she thought as she pushed her enemy to the ground with a powerful punch.

Suddenly she felt a sickening wrench on her Spark, and she collapsed to the ground. Her cooling fans activated with a hiss, and she doubled over, clutching her chassis. One of the bonds tied to her Spark flickered out.

Shortcircuit was dead.

Remix shuddered with horror as she fully realized what had happened. Her sire had been terminated by a Quintesson! She suddenly straightened when she felt cold steel touch her neck cables, and her gaze snapped up to the Quintesson, whose dark eyes flickered with triumph. She stared strickenly at it, optics hollow with grief. She had just enough time to send apologies to her carrier and sister through the bond before the sword was brought down, ending her.

* * *

Backbeat screamed as for the second time within a klik, her Spark felt as if it would explode out of her torso. Afterglow held her tight, whispering comforting words in her audial until the pain dulled, but the lubricant filling her optics didn't escape Backbeat's notice.

"Stay here, 'Beat," the femme said softly as she stood and went to another room. She put her digit to her comm and contacted Haywire, waiting impatiently for him to come on the line. When he finally did, she was greeted by a barrage of questions.

"_Sis? Are you alright? Have you seen the news? Kaon is being demolished!"_

"I know, Haywire. I…" She trailed off.

"_Afterglow?"_

"Remix and Shortcircuit are dead," she said, her voice glitching. "I was wondering if…I mean, if you have enough space…Kaon isn't exactly a safe place anymore…"

"_We'll have rooms ready for you and Backbeat," _Haywire answered, seemingly reading her processor. _"Just get over here. You'll be safe with us."_

Afterglow nodded, biting her lip plating. She ended the comm, then went back to Backbeat, who was tapping her digits together absentmindedly.

"Backbeat, we're taking a little…vacation to Vos," Afterglow said, sitting down beside her daughter. "We need to leave as soon as possible. Is there anything you'd like to bring with you? We…may not be returning soon."

Backbeat shook her helm weakly. "No, Carrier."

"Alright, then. Let's go."

* * *

"I'm so, so sorry, Afterglow," Firewall said, rubbing the other femme's back comfortingly. "Of course you can stay with us. I'm sure Backbeat will get along with Ratchet, Flatline, and Whiplash."

While the older bots were talking, Ratchet and Backbeat sat in their quarters, silent, and staring at each other.

"So…" Ratchet finally started, but he didn't exactly know what to say to a bot who just lost her sister and sire. "Um…Did you have any friends back in Kaon?"

"Yeah."

"Well…Who?"

Backbeat shrugged, looking at the floor dejectedly. Ratchet frowned. He didn't like it when others weren't happy.

"I have friends here, you know. My best friend is named Jetfire, but I also have other friends like Bitstream, Red Wing, and Sunstorm!"

"I had a few friends. Some mechs named Soundwave and Megatronus. But I didn't see them often," Backbeat muttered. "They were orphans. I was also friends with a femme named Airachnid, but I saw her even less than the other two."

"Airachnid? That's a funny name," Ratchet said, scrunching up his faceplate. Backbeat shrugged again.

"Lots of bots have funny names. Like yours. Why are you named after a wrench?"

Ratchet scowled. "I wasn't trying to be mean."

Backbeat grinned. "I know. I'm playing!" She punched him in the servo, yellow optics brighter and more cheerful than Ratchet had seen her in the past breem.

"Oh. Well…I was, too!" the mechling defended, crossing his servos and putting on a haughty look.

"You know, _Ratchet_, I think we'll get along just fine," Backbeat said, holding out her servo. Ratchet took it, and the femmeling suddenly pulled him forward into a crushing embrace.

"We may be cousins, but I think you're going to be more like a brother."

* * *

**000.01.04**

The Iaconian safe house was huge. Of course, it had to be in order to hold the entire population of Iacon. Unfortunately, that's not what it was holding.

The Quintessons had invaded Kaon, killing everything in sight. They wanted revenge for their defeat so long ago. Most of the bots they had built when they ruled were ancestors of the present-cycle bots living on Cybertron now, and they considered these bots to be their "property." They claimed the right to do anything they wanted: terminate, build, enslave; but the bots didn't fall for it this time.

As a result of the chaos, all sparklings and younglings were locked in the Iaconian safety vaults. Elite Guard soldiers guarded them at all times, making sure that no enemies entered.

The High Council was serious when they ordered all younglings to be brought to Iacon for safety reasons. They had rounded up every stray hooligan under the age of fifteen orns and all but dragged some of them to Iacon.

That was where Ratchet was now. He, Backbeat, and Flatline all sat together in their little corner, watching as the other younglings milled around. Flatline leaned into his older brother, seeking comfort, and Ratchet obliged. He was now thirteen orns old, and the eldest out of the trio. As soon as he turned fifteen, he would be shipped off to a training camp and forced into the war. Backbeat was twelve, and Flatline was six.

They had been taken to the vaults after their creators (and Ratchet's brother) had been called to war. Ratchet stilled remembered the cycle they had left.

* * *

_It was a few cycles after the arrival of Backbeat and Afterglow. The adult bots were all whispering togetehr and exchanging worried glances as they watched the news. Whiplash had been charged with supervising all three younglings, much to his annoyance. Nevertheless, he watched them diligently and entertained them to the best of his ability._

_Then one day there had been a knock on the door. Ratchet ran up to it, eager to answer. He opened the door to see a tall, dark blue mech standing there, a blaster attached to his hip plating and a serious look on his scarred faceplate, as well as a datapad in his servos. Behind him stood two other mechs: a blue and red one who couldn't have been much older than Ratchet, and his older brother or something, a green mech._

_"Hi!" called Ratchet, but grew confused when the tall mech only cast him an annoyed glance. His yellow optics were dull, and flickered with something that Ratchet's innocent processor couldn't place._

_"Youngling!" the mech finally barked. "Where are your creators?"_

_Ratchet shrugged. "I dunno."_

_"Right here, sir!" called Haywire as he rushed outside, Afterglow and Firewall on his tail._

_"Are you the one called Haywire?" asked the mech. Haywire nodded._

_"I am Commander Crossfire. You, Afterglow, Firewall, and Whiplash have been selected to fight for your planet against the Quintessons."_

_Haywire bowed his helm in acknowledgement, but Afterglow protested. "But sir, I don't know how to fight! Besides, I have a femmeling who needs my care!"_

_"All younglings are being guided to Iacon for safety precautions."_

_Firewall remained frozen, and Haywire elbowed her anxiously._

"_Whiplash," she muttered, glancing at Crossfire. "He's…so young, though."_

"_Yet he is three orns above the drafting age limit," Crossfire said, his voice void of emotion. Firewall nodded, then went back inside to give Whiplash the news._

_About five kliks later, the whole family was gathered near the door. Crossfire nodded to the adults and Whiplash. "We are on our way to Iacon now. Please gather all your valuables," he said before turning and walking into the street._

_Ratchet, Flatline, and Backbeat grabbed a few small things and entered the transport vehicle waiting for them. Whiplash sat next to them silently, gently rubbing Ratchet's back in comfort. Backbeat laid her helm on Afterglow's shoulder, and Flatline fell asleep in Firewall's lap._

_When they arrived, Whiplash grabbed Ratchet's shoulder and led him away from the group. He knelt down beside him and looked into his optics. "Ratch', listen to me. I…may not come back, and if I don't, I need you to take care of Flatline and Backbeat for me, alright?"_

_Ratchet frowned and nodded at his big brother, lubricant starting to form at the corners of his optics. "But…you'll come back, won't you?" he asked. Whiplash grinned at him._

_"Hey, I'll do my best, 'kay?" Ratchet nodded again, then darted forward and embraced his brother. Whiplash rested his helm on top of Ratchet's and wrapped his servos around the smaller mech's back, wary of his small wings. "I promise I'll pay you a visit, alright?" he said. Ratchet nodded and grinned._

_"I'll hold you to it."_

_Whiplash sighed. "Of course you will."_

_Afterglow gave Backbeat a hug before standing up and walking over to her brother, and Firewall whispered reassuring words to Flatline. When Ratchet and Whiplash came back to the group, Haywire grabbed Ratchet and hugged him close._

_"Keep 'em safe, 'kay, Sport?" Ratchet nodded, then walked over to Firewall and exchanged a nuzzle with her. He finally went to stand by Flatline and Backbeat, where they watched their creators and Whiplash, as well as the other mech Ratchet had seen, get back in the transport and leave. Flatline waved as the transport drove away, carrying most of his family with it. Backbeat watched it sadly, while Ratchet bowed his helm and whispered a small prayer._

_The other youngling, Magnus, turned to them with a solemn expression on his faceplate. "Well, I guess it's just us," he muttered. Backbeat immediately saw an opportunity to cheer someone up, so she ran forward and gave the older mechling a hug._

_"It'll be alright," she reassured. "I'm sure your bro will be fine," she said while grinning up at him. Magnus looked back down at her, a hesitant smile forming on his faceplate._

_"I promise I'll keep them safe for you, 'Lash," Ratchet whispered as he watched the transport until it was too small to be seen._

* * *

That left them where they were now. Magnus had wandered off to talk to other younglings. Finally, Flatline stood up and went off to explore. Backbeat remained, though, and shifted closer to her cousin, lubricant slipping out of her optics in small drops.

Ratchet put his servo around her shoulder pad and hugged her close as she buried her helm in his torso, frame racked with sobs. Already, she had lost her carrier. They had known it was inevitable. Afterglow had not been a gladiator, she had been an educator and an artist, but had nonetheless been forced into the war.

Suddenly Ratchet felt a touch on his shoulder pad. He flinched and turned around to see two mechlings looking at him sympathetically. One of them was bright red with teal servos and a gray crest on his helm. The other one was red and white with blue struts and a white chevron and red crest.

"What do you want?" Ratchet asked shakily. The white mechling frowned and removed his servo.

"You look like you need something to cheer you up," he said. "I'm Pharma. This is Perceptor, but we all call him Percy," he teased, glancing at Perceptor, who rolled his optics.

Ratchet looked at them in confusion. Why would they want to help him? "I'm Ratchet," he muttered anyway. Pharma smiled at him, then took his servo and helped him to his pedes.

"Why don't we show you around? We've been here a while, so we know this place inside-out."

Ratchet was about to protest; he needed to stay with Backbeat and keep an optic on Flatline, but he turned around to see that they had both forgotten about him.

Flatline was in the middle of the room, talking to an orange and scarlet mech excitedly. Backbeat was a little ways away, talking to – what he assumed to be – the other mechling's older brother, a red, green, and white youngling. Ratchet sighed in defeat. "Alright."

As they walked down the hallways, Perceptor and Pharma told Ratchet about their lives before the war. Perceptor had been an orphan living on the streets of Altihex with a four other younglings, including Pharma. Perceptor was thirteen orns old, and Pharma was twelve.

"Pharma's younger sister and some other orphans we met once we arrived are currently in here," Perceptor said. "There are a lot of younglings here - and not just from Altihex. It started out as just our little group: me, Pharma, and Wolfsbane, Pharma's little sister. We eventually met Wheeljack and his little brother, Pyro. When we were brought here, we met a group of four from Tarn. Thundercracker's the oldest, but Skywarp is only an orn younger. Starscream is the youngest, and Slipstream is a little older than him."

Ratchet looked around uncertainly, but Pharma put a servo on his shoulder pad and smiled reassuringly. "Don't worry, you'll be fine. We're all friends here."

One of the younglings approached the trio and grinned at them, waving to Pharma. He had light blue armor and chevron. "Hey!" he said excitedly. "I'm Thundercracker, but you can call me TC." Thundercracker offered his servo out to Ratchet, who took it hesitantly. "How old are you?" Thundercracker asked. "I'm thirteen."

Ratchet smiled a little and murmured: "I am, too." This earned a cheerful grin from Thundercracker.

"Cool! We're the same age! That means will be good friends, huh? What caste did you get? I got scientific! You know what I'm gonna be? A medic!"

Ratchet grinned awkwardly. "I got science, too. I don't know what I'm going to be," he muttered.

"You should be a medic," Thundercracker said quickly. "Then we could study together! Besides, your armor's already the right color! Red and white are standard medical colors, right? I bet you'd make a _great _medic! You know, I‒"

"Hey, TC, are you coming or not?" called a second youngling with purple and gold armor. "We can't wait forever! We need your help with this!"

Ratchet frowned in confusion. Suddenly Thundercracker leaned toward him and whispered, "We're gonna sneak out this night cycle. We wanna see Iacon; you know, being hatched in Tarn and all. Starscream convinced us, but we all want to see what a high-class place looks like compared to…well, Tarn. I'm just glad we weren't hatched in Kaon. I heard that was the first place to be invaded."

Ratchet glanced at him and opened his mouth, but was immediately cut off by Thundercracker. "Of course you can come! We're all going, but in pairs. First it'll be Skywarp and I, then Starscream and Slipstream. After that, Jackie and Pyro; then Pharma and Wolfsbane. You can go with Percy," he said.

Ratchet smiled and nodded. "I'll go with Percy," he confirmed slowly.

Thundercracker grinned. "Alright!" he cheered. "We'll come and get you when we're ready to go."

Ratchet nodded, but secretly wondered what he'd gotten himself into. Did Thundercracker really know what he was doing?

* * *

Ratchet had to admit, the power down arrangements weren't as bad as he thought they would be. He had thought that all the younglings would be crammed together, but he was wrong. Sure, it was a little cramped, but spacious enough for him to be comfortable.

There were stacked berths against the walls, large enough for at least two younglings. Backbeat, Ratchet, and Flatline were put in one stacked berth. Backbeat insisted on the top berth, so Ratchet and Flatline took the bottom. Flatline powered down against the wall, with Ratchet on the edge, near the floor. He stayed online though, and didn't even close his optics. He didn't want Thundercracker to leave him out because he couldn't wake him up!

"Psst."

Ratchet lifted his helm and peered into the darkness, squinting his optics. Finally giving up, he reached out his servo slowly. He flinched back with a startled gasp when his digit poked Thundercracker's torso.

Thundercracker clapped a servo over his mouth and put a digit to his own. "Shut it!" he whispered. "We're leaving. C'mon!"

The younglings silently left the room. Unbeknownst to them, a dark shadow slipped out behind them, trailing them through the vaults until they reached the exit.


	5. AN

Hi there! I just wanted to let my readers know that no, I have _not _forgotten about this story, but most of my stories are currently undergoing rewrites. This series is my top priority, but I'm planning to split it into several different books.

The first book will be called First Blood, and will focus on the First Quintesson War with the only canon characters being Azimuth, Alpha Trion, Kranix, and Nova Prime (plus a whole bunch of OCs). It is a prelude to the Second Quintesson War, which is what the second book will be centered on. The third book will be the Great War, and the fourth will be the ***spoilers – sorry, can't tell***

I also want to thank the readers who have been there since the beginning (my sad, failed attempt at putting my idea into words about a year or two ago – possibly more), and for sticking with me. I've done two or three rewrites already, but this time I'm completely overhauling the story (it'll be better, I promise!).

Be on the watch for First Blood, as it's nearly finished (it'll be quite short, though, so don't be disappointed when it's only seven or so chapters cx). If you'd like, here's an excerpt from First Blood.

* * *

_The Quintessons came. They wanted their birth planet back. Created by Quintus Prime, their ancestors were here before us, but they were spirited away by their creator after the War of the Primes. They brought their fleets of starships filled with false prophets and greedy merchants. But we are a young, naive race, and didn't know any better. We fell for their trap, and now we are paying the price._

_But you know all this. As you should also know, I am not sending you this message to tell you only of our mistakes. You have experienced them enough for yourselves. No, I am sending you this message, this calling, so that you may join me in liberating our brothers and sisters from the Quintessons._

_I have contacted thirteen of you to assist me in this challenge. I would like you to meet me beneath Crystal City, at the Underworld Gates. Do not allow anyone to see this message, or to follow you._

_– Alpha Trion_

* * *

**001.06.13 AW (first orn, sixth quartex, thirteenth cycle; Age of Wrath)**

On the surface, Crystal City was beautiful. Beneath, however, it was a labyrinth of twisting tunnels filled with rust-infected hallways and vengeful creatures of the dark. A trio of seekers walked down one such hallway, glancing fretfully about. The only sound was that of their peds clanking on the metal floor, and the drip of stale energon.

"Why do you suppose Alpha called us here?" one asked, a mech with intricate markings engraved on his gold and gray armor.

"How should I know, Azoth?" another replied, his armor black and dark red, with no markings.

"I was just wondering!" Azoth replied, narrowing his yellow optics. The other mech rolled his own red ones and cycled his vents in annoyance.

"Will you two knock it off?" snapped the third seeker, a femme with light blue and silver armor. "We're supposed to be quiet, remember?"

"Sorry, Radii," Azoth said sulkily. Viral gave a curt nod, then continued down the hallway. As they reached a corner, they noticed a bright blue light reflecting off the corresponding wall.

"This must be it," Viral whispered, stepping tentatively around the bend.

"Ah, you're here."


End file.
